


Not Half Empty

by Agent_Zap



Series: Full! -verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bodily Functions, Diapers, Established Relationship, Fear of Flying, Feeding, Kink Without Plot, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Rubber, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 06:51:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_Zap/pseuds/Agent_Zap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hm, just an unapologetic third installment. It doesn't seem fair to blame the original blindfold prompter anymore. Dean POV, and Sam has another good idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Half Empty

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing.
> 
> Other than Sam and Dean, I've stolen bits from Suicidal Tendencies and John Irving, and probably many others without realizing it.
> 
> Sadly, unbetaed. Sorry, it's difficult to find able, willing and available betas for 'extreme kink'.

It’s a hot day, and Dean’s hands are sticky on the wheel. He has no idea where they are going, but he knows something is up. This is a big day. Sam hasn’t explained anything, Dean hasn’t asked, and he doesn’t ask himself why that is important.

He’s boiling – the sun is turning the car into an oven. He’s swimming in sweat. He’s also nauseous. And there’s a dull, restless ache deep in his body, but right now he’s just hoping he won’t stroke out from heat. Sam is next to him, however, cool as a cucumber. Must be just him, then.

“Turn right next time.”

The road is swimming before his eyes, and he has no fucking idea where they are going. But the old girl makes the turn, smoothly, reliably. They’re coasting, as a team, though he knows she just pulls the load without objection today. It’s all good.

Sam said Take These Pills. And also, eat all kinds of weird shit. Thou shalt not eat anything but cheese and bread, and little green pills.

Road signs loom, and he doesn’t even try to glance at them, just focuses on turning right. The glaring sun shifts and settles behind him to his left, and he blinks against the itchy, salty drops that have been inching towards his eyes.

He’d stuck to the boring diet and the pills for some days, and felt his bowels turn heavy and reluctant. First day, he’d filled the diaper as usual, though a little late, and Sam had been satisfied. Then, another two days went by, and he could feel hardness settling inside him for a while, before he managed to pass something small and ungiving. Sam had smiled encouragingly at that, and then put the diapers away altogether. It had felt like having his pants taken away. All he could think about was feeling naked, and how obvious his embarrassment must be to everybody. What if he had an accident? But Sam had trusted him, kept feeding him the pills, and told him to start eating beans instead, as much as he could squeeze down. He needn’t have worried – his bowels weren’t going to go anywhere. He could feel the lumpy log collecting and lurking just behind his asshole, pushing against his bladder and his tailbone, but not pushing to get out. It felt like its size kept increasing, like he was continually being stretched on something that slowly grew, settling into every crevice of his pelvis, pushing the soft tissues to their limits. A few times he tried pushing, before he realized Sam was okay with no results, but pushing produced nothing anyway. He could feel the end of the mass peeking out of his ass when he really strained, but then it would retreat and rest inside him, as if comfortable. The feeling was exhilarating – his body was filling, and reshaping, into something he had no idea what was.

He’d seen Sam nod encouragingly at him at diner stops, and he’d felt proud at stuffing himself silly with what Sam ordered for him. He wondered how it was possible to feel so stretched and full, and still be hungry. Where did it all go? It became a challenge – he even scarfed down the vegetables that Sam put before him, tapping the edge of the plate demandingly with his fork. Huevos rancheros, bean burritos, black beans and corn bread. They were driving south. Sometimes, when they got close to bigger cities, Sam would take him to health restaurants, and order double servings of some sort of sawdust bread and rabbit food. He chewed it all proudly. Along with the pills.

He had no idea where they were going; Sam was online as much as always, but there weren’t any hunts announced, as far as Dean could tell. There was just driving, and eating, and his body transforming. It was kinda peaceful. Sometimes he felt the muscles of his insides work, and hurt, from the excess. His stomach would expand and press against his lower ribs, and threaten to push the enormous meals back up. But he always kept it down, pushing on. And his bowels would occasionally protest against the volume they were forced to hold, and cramps like knives would lighten through him, but most of the time it was just his abdominal muscles tiring of carrying the load inside. He’d given up on buttoning his jeans. Sitting down made things jar and poke inside his ass, but standing up made him feel like his intestines were about to herniate through his belly button. Yet he stubbornly kept eating. He was still able to fasten his belt and keep his jeans up, though he was at the next-to-last hole.

Then, last night, Sam hadn’t given him any pills. In fact, he sent Dean to bed without dinner. This was a change, and Dean lay awake most of the night; not because he was hungry – which he was, but because he knew something was up. He kept twisting and turning, feeling the weight of his body pulling him this way and that. He must have fallen asleep, though, because in the morning he was woken up by Sam, sitting on his own bed while tapping Dean’s shoulder, waiting for Dean’s attention to snap to. Dean swung his legs out of the bed and knuckled his eyes. His stomach was rumbling. Sam held out a handful of little, round, orange pills this time, and a bottle of water.

“Take these.”

Dean grabbed it all and downed it without hesitation. He had to sit up straight for his stomach to be able to take all the cool water. Sam stood up, pointing at his bed. Only now did Dean notice the items that Sam had laid out.

“Put these on.”

Dean got up and looked at the bed. There was a very large diaper, and some sort of black rubber over-alls. The tag said sleeveless rubber catsuit. Whatever. Slowly and carefully, he pulled on the suit. As soon as the material began to enclose his skin, he felt sweat starting to form. It was hot and cool at the same time. But then it was only around 7 am. The suit had feet, and he worked them on, thinking vaguely and dreamily of the point of feet on a catsuit. The suit had been thoroughly powdered, and he had no problems working it up to his thighs. Then he pulled down his boxers and positioned the diaper. The rush of familiarity, pulling it back up and adjusting the fabric properly, was intoxicating. This was it. He knew what was coming. He pulled off his T-shirt, folded the layer of rubber up over his torso and his arms through the suspenders, then stood still, waiting for Sam who was in the bathroom, as he felt his stomach gurgling in a long time unfamilar way. One of the occasional cramps twisted, and held him longer than usual. He bent over slightly and pressed his hands against himself. The pain eased, but a lingering ache remained as he straightened up.

Sam re-appeared, freshly showered and toweled, hair still damp. He looked Dean over. “Looks like it fits. You can finish dressing.” Sam grabbed his own clothes and started putting them on. Dean hobbled over to the pile next to his bed and for a moment he regretted not putting his clothes properly down on a chair – bending down for them was not comfortable. “Give me your weapons,” said Sam, “I don’t want anything sharp or dangerous near that suit.” Dean didn’t like it, but left everything on the bed.

When he was done, and looked up, Sam was waiting at the table, with a tub of ice cream in front of him. “Eat this,” he said, pushing it towards Dean. Dean felt a moment of _too much_ , but sat down and started eating. He was used to the feeling of too much, but this… was coming from somewhere deeper inside him. He ignored it and finished. Who was Dean Winchester to turn down ice cream? Sam watched him throughout, catching every sigh and every suppressed burp until everything was gone. Dean leaned back. “Done.”

Sam kept staring. Dean didn’t meet his eyes. He tried not to gasp, or be too obviously uncomfortable, leaning back in his chair.

“Let’s get going, then.”

Sam got up, gathered the remaining few of their things and moved towards the door with the bags slung over his shoulder. Slowly, Dean maneuvered himself up out of the chair and followed. When he reached the car across the dusty parking lot, Sam had already thrown the bags in the trunk and settled in the passenger seat. Dean climbed into the already hot car, and turned the ignition. Sam knew where they were going. The rubber clung to his skin, and all of him felt like a grinder with something stuck in it. Finally wearing a diaper again, he couldn’t help but try to push, but he only got as far as the realization that this was no use at all, before he heard Sam, cheerfully ordering: “Now don’t go before I tell you to.”

That was how they got here. Dean had bent over in the driver’s seat, feeling his intestines wake up like somebody’d blown a trumpet. The sun had baked him in the rubber suit, his breakfast didn’t seem to be making any attempts to move forward, and the area below his mid-section had thrown another gear in the grinding break-down.

He realizes he’s driving next to a very long, high-security looking fence. Sam is humming, and it sounds terribly familiar. “Another right, next.” Dean looks up, and this time, he notices the signs. It’s an airport. A fucking airport. He didn’t see that coming. Still, he follows Sam’s directions, and soon the car is parked, and they’re in the line for security checks. Sam has bags ready. He’s packed airport security approved bags for them, and Dean left his weapons in the bag in the car. They don’t have anything to check in. He wonders what a rubber suit and diapers will look like on a scan, but then he realizes THEY ARE GOING ON A PLANE, and his mind seizes up for the time it takes to go through security.

Sam has him firmly planted by the window in a plane that looks rather pathetic and rickety to Dean, when the thunder clouds start rolling in. Dean swallows and roots around in the magazine holder on the seat in front of him. Sam hands him a small, greaseproof paperbag. Way small. Dean thinks about ice cream, and diapers, and planes, and suddenly he can’t breathe. He wasn’t meant to be here. He wasn’t meant to feel this way. His eyes are closed when he hears the engines firing up and the plane start to move, and Sam’s hand with a bag settles over his mouth and nose. He pants into the bag, feeling less dizzy, but increasingly nauseous, and then the plane roars and takes off, and his whole existence of warped physics gets squeezed like a chicken in one of those meat processing plants – and the ice cream disobeys orders and explodes, sweet and burning, up his throat and out of his mouth and nose, into the bag and Sam’s hand.

After a moment, he attempts to open his eyes, but the plane is now lurching through dark clouds, and he folds in on his body that feels increasingly loose, floating out into the plane seat, and barely hits the next bag Sam holds out. As his stomach keeps contracting and forcing thin, acidic streams across his tongue and lips, slimy strings running down his chin to the paper bag, his eyes burning and running with tears, and his whole body shivering from fear and wet, rubbery, air condition cold, he realizes that the forced pressure is acting in several ways. Sam said I couldn’t go, Sam said I couldn’t go, he thinks desperately, as the gurgling in his bowels intensifies and he suddenly feels an unaccustomed need to fight to tighten his sphincter. His rectum feels like somebody is blowing up a balloon inside it, and stomach acid rides around in his chest again, the cold sweat is pooling inside the rubber around his hips, and then, just before he heaves again and feels a thin stream of shit snake out his quivering asshole, Sam whispers in his ear: “It’s okay. You can go.”

He goes. He can’t not. There is only so much ice cream to give back, but he keeps dry retching, and the loud, squeaking cramps keep forcing thin ropes of shit down his passages and into the diaper. In between bursts, he can feel the huge, hard mass that’s been lodged inside him, move back and forth. It’s not going to move so easily – the softer poop is simply sliding around it. All of his inside muscles seem to be contracting now, and they’re closing in on that plug he’s got stuck inside him. He leans back, confident that even though he’s still retching, there’s nothing more to bring up. He feels the soft, sticky insides of the diaper, and moves around a little to get the full sensation. He squints up and meets Sam’s eyes, which are sparkling while he leans towards him. “I want you to ride it,” Sam says and smiles.

Dean has a moment to wonder what that means, but then, there’s another cramp, and he feels like somebody’s pushing a handful of award winning zuchinis towards his ass hole, from the inside. He feels one adventurous shape stretch him and exit partly, only to get caught by the seat he’s sittin on. He feels its buddies crowd behind it, but sitting back like this, there’s no getting out for something that’s not soft and slithery. He gets what Sam was about. He lifts up a fraction in the seat, then settles down again as deep as he can, feeling the waste slip out, then sink back inside him. The pain inside his bowels build, but he feels triumphant, and filled completely. He shifts again, but then the plane tilts again; he opens his eyes to Sam, who’s watching him intently, holding another bag out, and Dean leans forward, hurling another unexpected load into his hands, and feeling soft shit spurting into his diaper around the monster stuck in his ass, rocking back and forth on it as he feels the diaper overflow, leaking into the rubber down his legs and up his back.

The plane is landing. In fact, it’s already on the ground, rolling up to the arrival gate. Dean is in his seat, the retching has stopped, but he’s still quietly riding the massive turd in his ass for Sam, thick liquid squirting out around it. He knows they’ll have to get up, soon. It’ll be over. He looks over at Sam, who whispers “Please do it. I want to see.”

While the other passengers leave the plane, leaving the young man who’d been so ill alone, Dean lets his bowels clench him empty, until there’s only the cramping surrounding the pillar he’s sitting on. Then he grabs the front seat and lifts himself up. He can’t help moaning, as he feels the knobbly turd exit completely. It keeps pushing back against his asshole as he stands there, wondering if he can trust his knees. He starts inching out into the aisle as another half arm starts pushing its way out. Even without sitting down, this gets stuck against the heavy layers of paper, rubber and fabric, and he tries to pinch it off as he walks down the aisle, but it’s no use. It just keeps sliding in and out with every step he takes. He can feel the final forces inside him build up behind it, and then his knees give out because he orgasms, and it’s only Sam’s hand under his elbow that keeps him from stumbling, while the sculptures of shit his body created get pushed out and settle firmly between his ass cheeks and down towards his crotch, leaving him forever. Sam palms his ass, and nods at him with an impressed and appreciative expression. Dean sighs deeply.

“I hope your flight wasn’t too bad,” the steward says and smiles apologetically.

“It wasn’t,” says Dean, “Really.”


End file.
